


enough

by wombatpop



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Drabble, Mental Illness, Vomiting, compulsive exercise, this has no purpose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 18:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11856855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wombatpop/pseuds/wombatpop
Summary: Maybe this'll be enough.





	enough

**Author's Note:**

> not really recommended for those who have experience with eating disorders or compulsive behaviours - this might be triggering for you - look after yourself!

He used to take a jog every morning, enjoying watching the world wake up, sunlight stretching over the sky as if to cradle the world in its arms and gently rouse it from its slumber. He never looks up at the sky now, his focus shifting from the beauty of the morning sunrise to the feeling of his feet hitting pavement. He clings to it; a time when his mind is quiet, the world is still. Just him and the ground. Sweat seems to stick to him like a second layer of skin, cocooning him in a bubble that cannot be penetrated by the outside world. He doesn’t need to think now. His heartbeat gallops ahead of him but he pushes further, just a bit faster and he’ll escape into this feeling – not a pit of the stomach feeling like everything else, but a feeling that lives in every muscle, from the soles of his feet the top of his head. His vision blurs and salt stings his eyes, eyelashes dripping and heavy, heavy like his strides, heavy like fists, heavy like his whole self is heavy. One foot in front of the other and he’s closer to his destination than he’s ever been – one more step and he’ll get there. One more step. His whole body throbs, every cell in his body is screaming for release but he can’t stop now.  
Maybe this’ll be enough.  
Maybe this’ll be enough.  
This is enough.  
This is enough.  
This is enough.  
Enough.  
Enough.  
Enough.  
Enough.  
Enough.

His feet catch and he hits the ground hard, but his head keeps spinning. Looking down, he sees his shins and hands covered in a patchy cover of blood. He can’t feel it. His whole body aches and stings and shivers and burns. His mouth floods with sour fluid, and he shudders, a sharp rise in his abdomen. He stretches out, craning his neck over his folded legs and vomits. 

It’s not a lot. It doesn't even get on his trousers.

He relaxes his neck and his head lolls onto his chest, and he can’t help but let out whatever has been waiting in his chest, somewhere between a cough and a sob. He squeezes his eyes shut, screwing up his face tightly until there is a pain behind his eyes and his jaw is on the verge of cracking.

He raises his head and breathes. It’s dark, the sort of intense darkness that seems to stretch on forever, interrupted only by the occasional houselight.  
His heart rate is almost slowing now.  
He doesn’t open his eyes. He knows he’ll do it all again tomorrow.


End file.
